Wombats
by Bee-Knee
Summary: Once, a boy named Jamie fell asleep, and woke up to find he was alone.


**_Wombats_**

* * *

Jamie remembered the cold, blue flash that had engulfed Oz. He'd been pinching sand and beetles in his small hands then.

He hadn't dared to look at the flash when it tossed him back. He'd been too scared then, simply put.

And perhaps that was for the best.

The flash roared like a monster, its breath so hot it burned his clothes and torched his skin.

Jamie had crawled into a hole, an old wombat burrow that folks always crowed on about filling, but never did.

He'd played many times there before that day. He'd like to sleep inside, bringing in pillows and blankets when the time came-or at least until someone called out and dragged him away to a '_proper'_ bed.

That night, after the flash in the evening, no one called for him to come out, or took him to a "proper bed," so he stayed the '_whole'_ night.

It was exciting and new at first! There was nobody to tell him to go to sleep.

He dreamed then of being a great explorer from the shows he adored on the telly. An explorer was supposed to be a "big bloke," as someone had said; a man that had no fear and wrestled crazy things like crocs and roos.

On reflection, he supposed the dream had never left him that night.

When he awoke, things were less exciting and new. His butt hurt from sitting on rocks, and his nose sniffled too much from the dust he'd kicked up.

He was excited to go back to a "proper bed." He'd learned his lesson then.

But when Jamie poked his head out, he ducked back in just as quickly.

Everything was on fire. Fire, fire, fire...was all he saw for miles.

'Had the flash done this?' He thought. Jamie creeped up slowly, finding the dirt hot to his nose and touch.

He looked to the sky, finding it black, with white poking in as dots of light.

Before it had been a creamy, baby blue.

Jamie didn't like the new sky in the slightest, nor the fire all around him. It was as if the monster could return at any moment. Jamie did not want to feel it's breath again. It stung his eyes, nose, and even ears.

So, he went back into the burrow, spinning a cocoon of blankets around himself. Only then was he _safe._

* * *

He set out another blanket and pillow to his side on that second night.

Jamie dreamed that the wombats came back.

They had settled down onto the spare pillow and blanket, licking his ears to warm him up. Jamie giggled as they let him pet them. Their fur was softer than a dog's or cat's. He had hugged one, and it hugged back.

When he awoke, he found himself hugging a pillow instead. Jamie cried as he patted the spot the wombats were supposed to be.

Why didn't they stay? It was safe and cozy down in the hole, wasn't it? Perhaps it wasn't enough.

He licked his lips and rubbed his eyes. It's when he realized he was awfully thirsty too.

Jamie grimaced as he saw the sun. His skin prickled and burned now that he moved much.

He wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve that. Folks didn't give him lashings if he'd done nothing.

Tears began to well again. He felt dizzy and it hurt to breathe.

Jamie wanted to go back into the hole, but then he remembered that the "big bloke" on the telly had no fear, and that's who he was going to be.

And the wombats were gone. Not even they stayed in their hole forever. Even if it was _safe._

He licked his lips, sticking his tongue out in disgust at the taste of dirt and snot.

'Thirsty,' He thought. 'The bats were thirsty.'

So Jamie pushed forward, dragging a blanket along with him-in case he would need it.

He went back to the house where his "proper bed" was and got a bit excited at the prospect of sleeping in it, now that he knew how bad rocks and dirt could be...but when he opened the door, it fell away.

He stood in the doorway, startled. His eyes wide like dinner plates.

He'd never seen a door just _fall_ backwards. They opened and closed upright and side to side, never backwards.

Cautiously, he walked up to the door and kicked the knob. It bounced off, rolling away.

His toes numbly curled a bit from the kick. He only wore a pair of scruffy, orange socks.

Jamie ran his fingers along the metal door. It was unnaturally hot to the touch, like it was the oven door.

The door also used to be blue, but now it was black, just like the sky.

Jamie couldn't help but be afraid as he made the connection. The door was black...the sky was black. Where did the colors go?

He looked at his fingers and started to cry.

His hand had become as black as the door!

And the sky!

He looked around the house, in fact everything seemed to be dusted in black. And hot, if he stood in one place for too long.

He...he wasn't sure what to do? He knew things should've had more color. He knew things hadn't always been so hot, and smelled like a grill.

Was...he still sleeping?

But why dream without colors?

Eventually Jamie stopped crying, having tired himself out. He meekly smiled when he realized his fingers turned normal when he rubbed his hand against the blanket; it too was quickly turning black, but Junkrat didn't mind the sacrifice if it meant he stayed normal.

'Thirsty,' He reminded himself. Crying had made him more thirsty than he thought possible.

"Juice?" His voice cracked and hurt. He decided not to speak when he was so thirsty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, the blanket held out in front, as if it could protect him.

Luckily, Jamie knew where the juice was kept. Often times he'd snag one or two, plus a snack, whenever he wanted.

Problem was, that he needed a chair to get to it.

The chairs were all black and that's when the blanket came in handy.

He pushed the chair with the blanket, to the correct spot. He didn't want any black on him if he could help it.

Next, he needed to climb the chair. The blanket was placed on its cleanest side and only then did Jamie dare step on it.

"Oh." He stared tearfully at the cupboard. He needed to open it. And, the handle was covered in black.

His blanket couldn't be in two spots at once. It was either the chair, or the handle he decided.

Remembering that he was to be a fearless, "big bloke" he held his breath and... pulled.

"Aaugh!" He screamed as a shower of black rained down on him. He froze, still holding onto the handle.

He blinked in disbelief. The black hadn't hurt him... hadn't hurt like the roaring monster had.

Jamie smiled, when his bravery was rewarded. He found _juice_, and more. His snacks were there too.

Feeling modest, he only took one juice. That, and because the rest was covered in black.

He popped open the carton, feeling instant relief as he sucked down every drop in one huge gulp.

When done he crushed up the package in his hands. He giggled when the plastic straw had caught in his hair. Jamie took the straw into his lips, blowing air as he tried to a make a sound.

*Pfffht*

It wasn't a whistle like he'd managed once before, but he wasn't disappointed. His eyes widened in fascination.

*Pfffht*

The air was blowing away the black!

Delighted that he could see the kitchen tile again, Jamie persisted in his blowing. A full tile ended up cleaned, showing a brown triangle pattern. Jamieson traced the pattern with his fingers, only now did he appreciate it.

'Much better,' he thought.

Jamie blew the straw a few more times, but save for the single tile, nothing else got clean.

It wasn't '_magic'_ then.

He looked out of the kitchen to spy the living room, black as ever.

The straw almost fell from his lips. His chin was wet with drool as he gaped in terrified _awe._

He couldn't clean the whole house...not...not with a straw?

Jamie giggled nervously. Well, he'd only clean important things.

Licking his lips, another juice became too good to pass up. He climbed the chair again, his blanket still in place.

With the straw again he blew, delighted that black puffed away from his juice and snacks.

Jamie was excited by his ingenuity. He never solved a problem so quickly on his own before!

His sucked another juice dry. He pulled down the rest of his juice, each in little boxed cases. He took down the snacks too. Jamie didn't want to climb the chair too often.

At first he placed the juice down on the single, clean tile, but the space quickly filled up. With a soured brow, he accepted the dirty, black floor.

"Yuck," he mumbled. The straw bobbed reassuringly between his eyes.

If his snacks and juice turned black again, he could just blow the color back in.

Then Jamie realized he could do that with anything he wanted.

The prospect of his new power was exciting.

He fumbled a bit with his snacks. He was about to open one but stopped when he caught sight of the dark living room.

No doubt the whole house was that way…

Suddenly Jamie felt very unsafe. He felt exposed sitting on the kitchen floor…

Tears cut cleanly across his dirty cheeks.

The monster might come back…

Jamieson looked over his juice and snacks with an uncanny greed. The monster might take it all away.

He couldn't eat here. It wasn't safe...

But the wombats were! Jamie smiled at the idea of seeing them again.

He placed his blanket flatley on the floor. Already his new '_ingenuity'_ was in full swing.

All his snacks and juice bundled nicely into the blanket and Jamie dragged it out of the kitchen, delighted that even the blanket cleaned the black from the tiles.

Quickly he walked past the living room and made an exit. He looked back every few seconds, making sure nothing had fallen off.

"Yes!" Jamie cried, when he made it back to the wombat burrow.

His snacks and juice were safe, and so was he!

After a victory snack, he settled down into his cocoon of blankets. He was safe, had food and drink.

Surely, the wombats would come back now that he could offer that!

But they didn't.

* * *

A "proper bed," Jamie almost entirely forgot about how important that was; but, the pain from his burned back as it scraped against dirt and rocks was a quick reminder.

"No bats?" Jamie patted the extra bed besides him. He was beyond disappointed and bit his lip; tears dotted his eyes.

The wombats hadn't come that night, nor the next, nor even the one after.

'Why?' he thought to himself. Jamie would have asked himself aloud, but he'd grown weary of making sounds. Adults, as he understood, preferred children to be seen and not heard.

Besides, would he scare the wombats with his talking if he did? It wasn't an entirely ludicrous idea, at least from his view.

Jamie crawled out from the burrow, so crusty with dirt that he might as well have been a wombat himself.

Two blankets he took with him. One was draped across his boiled, itching back. The other he clutched tightly and rubbed against his face.

The air was putrid, and the sky was just as black from that day.

Jamie took stock of his surroundings. To his right was the neighborhood; to his left was a whole lot of nothing.

The barren wasteland stretched out as an endless gloomy path.

The sun was only just rising. Thin lines of harsh light cut through the clouds.

Jamie sat for a moment, happy for any distraction. had his back to the neighborhood. Everything had been scorched black and color was simply gone.

The blanket was wringed roughly between his fingers. He bit into the fabric, muffling his shivering fear.

He didn't want to go to the 'neighborhood.'

He didn't want to go back '_inside.'_

But, he did want a "proper bed." Jamie stamped his feet in the sand, doing so rapidly that it was akin to a dance.

He was working himself up. His blanket unraveled, twirling around like a whip.

Jamie was a brave explorer, like a "big bloke!"

He almost proclaimed such to the sky, but his words were held tight.

Every instinct in Jamie screamed at him to stay quiet as he approached the same blackened door.

The first thing that drew his attention was the door knob. It shined despite the lack of light and the black backdrop.

Despite being such a mundane item, Jamie decided it was his.

"Cool!" He remarked, when he took the knob and peered into the slot it had popped out from.

Curiosity at hand, Jamie disassembled what parts of the door he could. It only just occurred to him that he could do as he pleased.

Nobody had called his name since the _monster attack._ Where were the other people?

Did...everyone leave without him? It was an upsetting thought, so much so that he dropped the knob and moved away from the door.

Jamie's curiosity had gone sour, replaced by the looming fear he fought so desperately to push back.

It got worse once he stepped deeper into the house. The blanket was rubbed harshly against his face, as if it could soak up fear like the sweat, blood, snot n' tears, plus pus it had so far.

"Hey!" He shouted into the dark, after some deliberation. Past the living room he'd found the hallway that would lead to a "proper bed."

It was his room, technically. Jamie knew everyone had a "room" of their own at some point.

But he wasn't sure how it was his. The walls were painted a tacky lavender and darker stars in purple pattern the wall.

Jamie hated purple, all thanks to this room.

He hated stars, because he looked at them too often.

Save for the walls, there wasn't much that drew Jamie to 'his' room.

A few toys were recognizable at his feet.

He scrutinized a melted toy car. The paint was flaking off and the plastic casing had morphed the entire thing into a brick.

The wheels didn't roll anymore...Jamie tossed it aside, disgusted.

Toys that differed were few and far between.

Melted army men and other vehicles were laid out like a tiny massacre.

Fortunately, Jamie didn't care in the slightest as he approached his bed, a "proper bed." Enough days had passed that he no longer feared the black that clung to his skin and bedsheets.

Well...calling what remained "bedsheets" was generous. The comforter was disintegrating and the pillow underneath Jamie's head shrunk so flat that it resembled a crispy marshmallow.

"Hello?" Asked Jamie, to no one. The silence was getting to him. In the wombat burrow it was fine, it was safe there and expected.

Safe places were quiet.

Or so Jamie first thought.

But his room, the house, and neighborhood were quiet and they didn't seem safe anymore.

Did that change? Was he wrong?

Answering himself, Jamie angrily shook his head.

His hair sent black ash, this way and that.

Some ash got in his eyes, so he closed them.

It was the monster's fault. The monster had scared everyone away.

He hoped the wombats would come back.

But they never did.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews and feedback appreciated. Cheers!


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